


Kandahar

by ThetaSigma



Series: Mad Doc Watson [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, John Watson is BAMF, M/M, Mad Doc Watson, The story of Kandahar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: After the events of Insane, Sherlock wants to know just what happened with that firefight in Kandahar. John downplays it - "oh, firefight, bombs, you know, no big deal" - but Murray is more than happy to tell Sherlock the full story.And goddamn, John damn wellearnedhis nickname.





	Kandahar

“You were going to tell me about Kandahar,” Sherlock says, several days after the kidnapping. “Then you _distracted_ me!”

“Took you long enough to remember,” John answers. “Yes, fine, I got the nickname from Murray after we got involved in a firefight and some bombs ended up getting dropped.” 

Sherlock’s entirely sure he’s not getting even a _hint_ of the full story, but further questions get evasion. No, the way to find out is to go with John next time he meets up with Murray.

*** 

That comes several weeks later, something Sherlock’s been waiting for impatiently. 

They enter the pub, John introducing Sherlock as “my husband” – something which still made Sherlock glow – and Murray as Captain William Murray and all-around crazy bastard.

“Shit, Mad Doc,” Murray says. “Never thought you’d go domesticated on us.”

John laughs. “Marrying Sherlock was about the least domestic thing I’ve ever done. Trust me, Murray, there’s no picket fence or SUV in sight.”

“Like you’d be happy with a picket fence and 2.4 kids. What’s he do?”

“He’s a consulting detective. Mad chases through London at all hours, plenty of fights, and just general insanity goddamn always.”

“So you found the war at home, huh?”

John grins. “Fuck yes. Let me get us drinks.”

John goes to get them all drinks, and Sherlock leans forward eagerly now. “You know about Kandahar,” he says. “John won’t tell me.”

Murray’s tanned face splits into a grin. “Fuck no, ‘course he won’t. Mad Doc never talks about the crazy shit he’s done. Wait ‘til he comes back, though, I _love_ hearing him try to tell me this wasn’t such a crazy thing.”

John comes back with pints for him and Murray and a cider for Sherlock. “You two behaving?” he asks, taking a gulp.

“So, we’re on patrol,” Murray begins, throwing a grin at John, who groans. 

“Not _this_ again. Murray, it was nothing.”

“And our fucking intel had been way off. Place where _we’re_ at? Fucking overrun. Honestly, the RAF was needed, not us, and we don’t get more than five minutes in before we’re shot at. Shoot back, ‘course, but they’re firing from inside houses, most of the time. Smith goes down first, instant kill, and Ayers next. Mad Doc here assesses the sitch and says, ‘Right, so we’re fucked. Get the fuck out, take the van, go as far from here as you fucking can’. So Wilson asks, ‘Right, Cap, and you?’” Murray shakes his head and says, “Doc here just says, ‘I’m providing covering fire, what the _fuck_ do you think? Now _move_ , that’s an order!’ So we scramble out while Mad Doc here gives them hell. Last we see of him, he’s tossing a grenade into a building, gun at the ready, while we _get the fuck out_.”

Sherlock looks at John assessingly. “Yeah, insane seems to be his style,” he says finally.

“As opposed to what, letting us stay and all get shot?” John says. “And they were my men – my duty was to get them out.”

Murray raises an eyebrow at Sherlock, as if to say, _see what I mean?_

“We’re at the vans, decide we’ll all cram our arses into one, even though we came in two, so that Doc here can get his arse back to base. I mean, we knew the guy was on a fucking suicide mission by then, but I’d already seen him come back from crazy shit. We’re, what, a mile away when we hear the planes, and next thing we know, the fucking city behind us is burning. Goddamn _bombs_. Well, we don’t know fucking shit about what’s going on anymore, but we know for a fact Mad Doc’s dead in that. Ain’t a way he survived fucking _bombs_ being dropped on his head.”

Sherlock looks stricken, and John rubs his hand placatingly. “Clearly I’m not actually dead, love. Really, it wasn’t a big deal.”

Murray snorts. “Two hours later, we’re showered, given our reports, and on our way to the mess hall for some food. We’re all down about Watson, ‘course – never had a leader good as _him_. And we get to the mess, and there’s Watson, eating like he doesn’t have a care in the world, still goddamn covered in blood, and he grins.

“So I say, ‘Shit, Watson, thought the bombs got you. Bloody bad timing on the RAF!’ Mad Doc here just laughs and says, ‘Fuck no, Murray, _I called them in_.’ Bastard here, alone in a firefight, goddamn _asked_ them to drop bombs on his head. Then he tells us that as soon as the first hit, a good few blocks away from where he was, he legged it like mad and fucking _outran the fucking explosion_. What the fuck _else_ were we going to call him after that but ‘Mad Doc Watson’?”

Sherlock stares at John. “You _lied_ to me,” he says accusingly.

“I most certainly did not. I told you, there was a firefight in Kandahar and some bombs got dropped.”

“Not that. You told me you were an army _doctor_. You weren’t – you were a soldier who _happened to be_ a doctor.”

John grins. “Still no – you assumed I was an army doctor. I just never corrected you.” He laughs. “Honestly, you think the RAMC teaches their doctors how to shoot like I can? The evidence was always right there, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gapes at him for a moment, then pulls him into a rough kiss. “You fucking insane _marvel_ ,” he breathes. 

“Right,” John says. “Murray, it’s been a blast – but I’m pretty sure we need to be home right fucking now.”

Murray waves them off with a promise to get together before his leave ends. As they leave, he hears John say to Sherlock in a low tone, “How about at home I show you just what else the military taught me, hm?” Murray grins. Anyone who suits Mad Doc like that is a good man, in his book.


End file.
